Visions of Future Past
by Evil Little Dog
Summary: Ed's sure he's seen Winry. Riza's not so sure. Sort of (but not really) an FMA/Winter Soldier fusion.
1. Visions of Future Past

**Title:** Visions of Future Past

**Author: **Evil_Little_Dog

**Rating:** K+

**Disclaimer:** This is a derivative work, and, as such, I make absolutely no money writing this. Darn the luck.

**Summary: **Ed's sure he's seen Winry. Riza's not sure.

**Notes:** I've wanted to write a story like this for a long time. Then I saw M7Angela's FMA/Winter Soldier fusion art, and that started me niggling on the idea a little more. There will probably will be more for this story, as I have time to play with it.

* * *

Riza Hawkeye had learned many things since she'd been assigned as the handler to the young man known as 'Fullmetal'. His personality traits made him larger than life, with his tendency to shout, his obnoxious way of speaking the truth whenever it was absolutely the worst time, his temper, and his ego.

The problem was, he was often right.

Still, it didn't mean he was always right.

"We are not discussing this, Edward."

He slammed his hands down on her desk, the weight of his automail arm making the cheap wood groan. "We are," he insisted.

"Agent Hawkeye, you know he'll just go over your head," Alphonse Elric, the younger brother, said gently.

Riza counted to five and folded her hands together. "All right. Tell me this, Edward. How can you be sure the woman you saw is Winry Rockbell?"

Edward gritted his teeth, glaring across the desk at her. "How can I be sure?"

"Ed," Alphonse said, possibly in warning.

Pushing off the desk top, Edward shook his head. "It's the little things, Agent Hawkeye. Like the earrings she wore. Al and I gave her those earrings."

"A lot of women wear earrings," Riza said.

Edward made a cutting motion with his hand. "Not every woman pierces her ears the way Winry did – four in one ear and two in the other." He indicated the way the four earrings ringed around the woman's lobe with a fingertip.

"Earrings aren't enough, Edward," Riza said, pleased her formative years with Mustang, and all of his temper tantrums, put her in good standing to deal with this young man. "You should know that. And you are also aware that the woman known as La Belle is an assassin, one with over thirty kills to her name. You are damned lucky," she made the word into a verbal whip, "to have survived your encounter with her."

"Another reason it has to be Winry," Alphonse said, leaning forward.

"A blond haired woman with blue eyes and earrings could be anyone. And anyone who knows anything about the two of you could have disguised a woman to match Winry's description." Riza shuttered her eyes, leaning back slightly in her chair to keep both Elrics in sight. Alphonse sat to her right, elbows resting on his knees, fingers twined together. Tense, yes, but not about to leap up. Edward prowled in front of her desk, like a wild animal in a cage. "I know what you believe you saw."

Edward whirled to face her. "I know what I saw, Agent. I saw Winry Rockbell. The homunculi did something to her – she didn't see to know me at first."

"Then she did!" Alphonse interrupted.

"And she said my name." Edward seemed to dare her to contradict him.

"Edward." Riza made the two syllables sound like gunshots. "I understand your feelings on this – no, I do. I want to find Winry alive just as much as you do. But it's been four years since she vanished. The woman you're describing sounds like she's a mirror image of the girl you once knew. Do you really think she wouldn't have changed at all?"

Alphonse's mouth tightened and the muscle of his jaw flexed. Edward inhaled sharply, eyes widening, then narrowing. He took the two steps to the front of her desk again, glaring over it at her. "I know Winry. And I want her back."

"We both do," Alphonse added.

Exhaling, Riza picked up a pen. "All right. Tell me what you have that I can post up the line." The brothers exchanged a look. Alphonse leaned back in his chair, nodding at Edward. Edward licked his lips, spreading his hands. Riza snapped, "What have you done?"

"Talked to Greed."

"Greed?" She managed to keep her voice at speaking level. Almost.

"He's an ally," Edward said.

"Prince Yao was an ally," Riza reminded sternly. "Greed is - "

"Greed has never done anything to hurt us," Alphonse interrupted. "Ling and he…cooperate." He glanced at Edward, who bobbed his head in agreement. "And Greed wouldn't hurt a woman."

"We'll be discussing you being in contact with a known enemy at a later time," Riza said, giving them fair warning. "What did he tell you about Winry?"

"Ling spent time with Winry," Edward said. "He knew her." He regained his cockiness, a smirk spreading across his face. "He says Kimblee's been working with a girl."

Riza knew Kimblee had been the one to take Winry hostage, back before the Promised Day. Winry herself came up with a plan to escape, but something had gone wrong, and she'd vanished. Edward still beat himself up over it, Alphonse, too; though they had not been anywhere near where Winry disappeared. Probably the reason why it hit them so hard, they hadn't been able to protect her.

"All right," she said. "Write up a report of everything that happened, and what you found out from Greed. I'll pass it along." Holding up a hand to forestall any exclamations, she added, "And you are forbidden to attempt a rescue on your own. Or enlisting others to help you attempt a rescue."

The Elrics didn't look surprised or even upset at her order. Riza knew that meant they had some other plan in place already. No matter what she said, they'd go around her, and might remember to ask forgiveness later. "I know you want this woman to be Winry," she said. "But what if she isn't?"

"What if she is?" Alphonse tilted his head to the side, a bittersweet smile on his face.

"Is that it?" Edward asked, obviously ready to get started on whatever subterfuge they were already involved in.

"You're dismissed," Riza sighed, waving them out the door. "Just remember." They stopped, looking back at her. "We've invested a lot of money in you. Be sure and come back alive, regardless of whether you bring Winry with you."

Edward waved over his shoulder. Alphonse grinned, closing the door behind them. Shaking her head, Riza opened a desk drawer. She took out a folder, pulling out a document she referred to as the 'apology form'. At the very least, she could start on it, and fill in the rest when the Elrics returned.

* * *

~_end_~


	2. A Day in the Life

**A Day in the Life  
**

* * *

Edward woke to the sound of paper snapping. He blinked a couple of times, his blurred vision clearing enough that he could see the black-haired man dressed in a suit, a newspaper obscuring much of his body. "Whut're you," he slurred, his mouth too dry to make proper sounds.

"Ah, Edward. It's good to see you awake." Mustang folded the paper closed, making it a neat little packet, easy to carry. "It looks like someone did a number on you." From the tone of his voice, Mustang knew the identity of the person who'd put Edward in this hospital bed. "Do you remember how you wound up here?"

Closing his eyes, Edward started to inhale deeply. The ache in his ribs stopped him, making him cough a couple of times before he managed to regain control. "Yeah."

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me how you tracked 'La Belle' down," Mustang asked dryly.

"I have my ways." Edward wasn't about to implicate the people who'd helped Alphonse and him find Winry.

Mustang snorted. "Whatever you've done, you are aware she's locked up, and she will be tried for the murders she committed?"

He clenched his jaw. Winry, killing people. What in hell had Kimblee and the homunculi done to her, to turn her into this? Worse, would there be a way to bring her back, without destroying her completely? "Talk to Marcoh," he grated out. "Get him in to see her." Edward glared at Mustang, determined to make his point. "He can help her."

"He can help a woman who's murdered so many people," Mustang said, "who put you in the hospital with a concussion and numerous broken and fractured bones?"

"Like it hasn't happened before. It's just one of those days, Mustang. I'll heal," Edward insisted. "Get Marcoh in to see Winry. And Al, too." If he wasn't there already. "And I want to see her, too."

"You're making a lot of demands for a man who's laid up." Mustang rose to his feet, tucking the newspaper under his arm. Edward could just catch a glimpse of a screaming headline about the Fullmetal Alchemist hospitalized. He hoped Winry wasn't in the article. Mustang caught his attention with the question, "Are you sure it was worth it?"

"If it'd been Hawkeye, would you still be asking me that question?"

Only the faintest of hesitations let Edward know he'd scored a hit, then Mustang snorted. "Have it your way, Fullmetal. I'll try to locate Dr. Marcoh. Unless you have a way of contacting him on your own?"

Edward didn't respond beyond arching his brows.

"Of course," Mustang said. "Well. Enjoy your convalescence." He pushed through the hospital door, leaving it swinging behind him.

Sighing, Edward closed his eyes, remembering the last instant of the fight, when Winry had straddled his hips. She'd pulled back her fist, her face twisted in rage. "Winry," he'd said, "I won't fight you."

Something in her eyes flickered, just enough to give him hope. Then she screamed and Edward couldn't remember any more.

"She's in there," he said, to hear the words out loud. "She's in there, and we'll get her back. I promise, Winry. You'll be able to come home again."


	3. Your Own Private War

**Your Own Private War  
**

* * *

**Table City, Milos**

The difficulty in turning someone's personality from one of helpfulness to that of a cold-blooded killer could not be underestimated. Kimblee was well aware of this, having successfully flipped others in the past, but that was during the Ishvalan War. It was easier in battle – the outside stimuli could be used to reinforce the words said, and 'patriotism' and 'heroics' and 'good of your country' could sway certain personalities easier than any other methods. And in war, it was always harder to tell good from bad, malice from benevolence. It was easier to wear a mask on a battlefield, but if one looked at every encounter as its own little war, it made it easier.

Duplicity mixed with truths worked best, he'd found, though in the case of Winry Rockbell, dubbed 'la Belle', that would only go so far. The girl had a core as true as gold, and presented a challenge. How could he warp her, change her, remold her into a form so much more pleasing? She already mistrusted him. Kimblee knew that from what Fullmetal and the Armored Alchemist had to have told her. His desire to destroy Scar could have killed her, and that would never do, not when she could be used against the people who loved her most.

Kimblee knew all too well the psychological backlash of fighting someone you once considered a friend. Of finding out said 'friend' was no longer an ally, but an enemy. He'd seen it in action, the gleam of familiarity, the relaxing of the shoulders, and then, the true horror when the realization struck.

He imagined springing la Belle on the Elric brothers, seeing their expression s as they recognized their childhood friend, but there as still much to do. She had to be forged into a weapon; obedient, mindless, impervious…and then…

Then he could send his masquerade out into the world.


	4. Healing Ways

**Healing Ways  
**

* * *

The walls were made of a clear material, with holes in it to allow for air circulation. The floor and ceiling were padded, but there was no furniture within it. A woman paced across the floor, her shoulders stiff, her blond hair twitching with each stride. Alphonse Elric sat in one of the chairs outside the cell, reading aloud from a book that looked to be an ancient children's book, with dog-eared pages and softened corners.

"Is it working?"

Alphonse marked his place in the book with his finger, turning to look up at his brother. It hurt to see Edward on crutches, bruised up as badly as he was, but at least he was alive. "So far, it hasn't," he said reluctantly. "I thought this would get her attention." He flipped the book to show Edward the cover.

He blinked, obviously recognizing it. "You probably should've been reading medical journals or something, not fairy tales."

Patting the book's cover, Alphonse said, "We read this together as kids, don't you remember?" When Edward shook his head, Alphonse sighed. "We did, and you always wanted to play dragon and the knight afterward." Edward always insisted on being the dragon, with Alphonse and Winry as the knights – because Winry wouldn't be a princess who might need to be rescued. Even after many arguments about how girls couldn't be knights, which led to actual fights, and bruises, and tears, the brothers decided it was easier to let Winry be whatever she wanted. As long as Edward could be the dragon.

His expression cleared. "Okay, I remember." Edward glanced away from Alphonse toward the cell. His hands fisted, the automail whining from the stress.

Sighing, Alphonse dropped his gaze back to the book. There had to be some way to get through to Winry. "Dr. Marcoh and Dr. Knox have been by. Dr. Marcoh suggested we put her in here," he nodded at the cell, "since it was designed to hold Armstrong."

Edward's reaction was to growl something unintelligible. His focus was on Winry, and the way she paced back and forth in the cell.

"They don't know what the homunculi did to her," Alphonse went on, not even sure if his brother was listening. "Maybe a mixture of drugs and," he swallowed, "torture. Maybe hypnosis."

The straining sounds from Edward's automail grew louder, accompanied by teeth grinding against each other. Alphonse rubbed his forehead. "You're going to break something, Ed."

"How could they do something like this to Winry?" he snapped, whirling on Alphonse. "She's – she's a healer. She makes things better. And they – those assholes – just – just!" Spinning again, he kicked a chair, sending it clattering against a wall. "Gah!"

Alphonse set his hands on the book's cover again. "Probably to hurt us." He kept his voice low, not wanting to set off Edward any more than he had to. "They know how much she means to us, and they're trying to take any advantage they can." He took a breath, but it didn't settle him as much as he wished it would. Winry in a cage was so wrong. That she didn't seem to recognize them cut through his heart like a knife. "We'll get her back, Ed," he said, trying to calm his brother, not even sure if he'd get through to him, either.

His answer was a black look, the automail whining louder.

Alphonse barely noticed. "Ed," he whispered. "Keep…keep doing that."

"What?"

"Keep being angry!"

"The fuck, Al?" Edward took a step closer.

He used his chin to point at the cell. "Look."

Edward turned slowly, seeing what Alphonse already had, Winry her hands on the cell wall, her forehead pressed to the glass, staring at Edward's arm. She frowned, something flickering in her eyes, a spark that Alphonse wanted to see ignite. Edward clenched his hands even tighter, making the hydraulics squeal. Winry's glare shot up from his hand to his face, and she thumped her fist against the glass.

"Ed," Alphonse breathed.

"Yeah, Al, I see." Edward's grin was that dangerous, cocky grin he got sometimes. "We just had to think outside the box to reach her."

"This might not do it, Ed." Alphonse couldn't help but warn.

"I know, Al, but maybe." His smile softened. "Maybe it's a start."


	5. Pictures on the Wall

**Pictures on the Wall  
**

* * *

The call came through on a secure line. "Lieutenant Hawkeye, are you alone?" Armstrong's deep, bluff voice sounded somehow smaller than normal.

"I am, Major, what is it?" She adjusted the earpiece so it sat more comfortably.

"Fuery will be sending you some video and still images of the Homunculi cell we neutralized. These images are for your eyes only, Lieutenant."

"Of course, sir." The ping on her desktop caught Riza's attention and she tapped a t the message box, pulling up the video. The images began to stream, making her breath catch in her throat.

"Are you getting this, Lieutenant?" Fuery's voice came over the comm. Link.

"Yes," Riza said, swallowing, trying to process what the video revealed.

Fuery swept his camera slowly around the cell; a tiny cement room, some rags thrown in a corner, a drain in the center of the sloping floor. Riza took that in and dismissed it as non-essential, except in the most callous way. She already knew what the Homunculi and their allies would do to destroy someone. But this…"How long ago do you think Winry was kept in the cell?"

"We'll have to do some testing," Fuery said, turning his head to show her some of the techs taking samples from the wall. "But this cell block was still active when we attacked."

"Possibly recently, then." Riza leaned back in her chair, passing her fingers over her eyes."

"Yes, sir."

"Get photographs of everything, and send them to me encrypted. Do not let the Elrics know about this. It's a need-to-know-only situation, and right now, they don't, am I clear?"

"Yes, sir!" Fuery's agreement resounded in the confined space.

"Lieutenant," Armstrong boomed, and Fuery's camera turned to him. "If I might make a suggestion – it is possible Dr. Marcoh could find these images useful. He is treating Miss Rockbell, isn't he?"

Riza bit back a sigh at the fact Armstrong knew about not only their captive, but who was trying to reach through to the girl Winry used to be. "Yes, he is, and I agree. But I still believe this is something the Elrics don't need to know about just yet. I'll speak with Dr. Marcoh personally when all the images have been forwarded to me."

"Of course, Lieutenant. Fuery will provide them shortly."

"Thank you, Major, Fuery."

"Lieutenant, we're also bagging anything from this cell that isn't bolted down," Fuery said.

"Good work, Fuery. If there's nothing else, gentlemen?" When they replied in the negative, Riza said, "Hawkeye out," and broke the connection. When her computer pinged again, letting her know more images had arrived, she considered leaving them for a few seconds, then opened the link. Her stomach still twisted, seeing them again.

Images drawn in a rusty brown substance Riza could only assume was blood covered the walls. Some of them were tiny, others large. Sketches of automail, of right arms, left legs, some of them detailed, some almost undecipherable scribbling.

Her computer pinged again, with a note, 'Look at this.' Riza opened the attachment and had to close her eyes, gathering herself before she opened them again. Fuery must have lain on the floor to take this video. His hand reached out to move some rags away from the wall. "It's a smaller image than all the rest," Fuery said, his voice hushed. "I wouldn't have noticed it but I saw the rags and a hint of something behind them."

Riza didn't want to think how the image had been drawn, what had bemused as a brush to paint the wall with the tiny, three-storied house, the dog, and three people. Even in miniscule, Riza recognized the forms of Pinako Rockbell, Alphonse Elric, and Edward Elric.

Copying the images onto a password protected thumb drive, Riza deleted those she'd received so far, emptying the trash on her system. She couldn't show these photographs to the brothers. With Edward still healing in the hospital, and Alphonse dividing his time between his brother's bedside and Winry's cell, they had enough to occupy their minds. These images would currently cause more harm than good, if shown to them. But Armstrong's thought on providing them to Dr. Marcoh was an excellent idea. They might provide some way to reach Winry.

And if it helped, well, maybe the shit storm when the brothers found out about Winry's drawings could be lessened.


End file.
